


Awakenings

by F-117 Nighthawk (F117_Nighthawk)



Series: Dark Matter [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Music, Mind Meld, Minor Adam/Shiro (Voltron), OKAY SO THE CHARACTER DEATH, and Honerva/Zarkon, eight of the first ten paladins die, five things sort of?, it made me put Tannin's second name in wrong bc restricted characters :(, look just take this mess, none of gen three, oof i have no iea how to tag this, the childs are okay, there's also a mention of allura, this has all three sets of paladins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26624191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F117_Nighthawk/pseuds/F-117%20Nighthawk
Summary: Something awakes.It has not woken in a very, very long time.It is eternal, immortal. It was here for the first sunrise, and it will be here when the last star burns out.The Lions of Voltron, one Paladin at a time.
Relationships: Alfor & Red Lion (Voltron), Blaytz & Blue Lion (Voltron), Gyrgan & Yellow Lion (Voltron), Hunk & Yellow Lion (Voltron), Keith & Red Lion (Voltron), Krolia & Blue Lion (Voltron), Lance & Blue Lion (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt & Green Lion, Shiro & Black Lion (Voltron), Trigel & Green Lion (Voltron), Zarkon & Black Lion (Voltron)
Series: Dark Matter [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/797976
Comments: 15
Kudos: 30





	1. Water

**Author's Note:**

> So you know last summer when I was playing Mass Effect to cope with anxiety and ended up writing [this?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20123767)  
> Yeah, my second-degree black belt test is in two days.  
> I wrote the general idea of this a few months ago when [Abyss by Unleash the Archers,](https://youtu.be/1bGmjnkDTTI) the song that inspired this, first came out, and finished most of it in the past week because I'm trying _not_ to fuck up my knee again obsessing about this test. My anxiety is your reading pleasure.
> 
> edit I CANNOT BLIEVE I FORGOT TO PUT A SUMMARY IN
> 
> This first chapter references the events of [A Former Shade of Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11775441/chapters/26548878) so if you haven't read the first two chapters, I'd do that just to figure out why Azul knows Keith.

_ The Blue Lion, the Spirit of Water. It is the heart, the glue that keeps Voltron together. It fills the gaps between clashing personalities, an expert negotiator between both Paladins and allies. Empathetic, loyal almost to a fault, water draws all into its power and floats them steadily towards fate in its waves. _

* * *

Something awakes.

It has not woken in a very, very long time.

It is eternal, immortal. It was here for the first sunrise, and it will be here when the last star burns out.

It may not be whole, but it remembers enough to know that that doesn’t matter. Something will always come along that will complete it, give it new purpose beyond a silent watcher, to coalesce it into something greater than scattered particles of stardust.

“What sort of weapons do they have?”

It reaches out, searching for the source of those words, and suddenly it can sense  _ everything.  _ Its siblings sit around it, all but one waking for the first time similarly to it, a sense of wonder throughout them at their surroundings, their new bodies. The ore they inhabit is familiar, but the origin of that memory is just out of reach. It is a body in the form of a great beast, metal and electricity and  _ quintessence. _

Why were they here? Who had summoned them?

**Alfor somehow managed to accidentally summon us,** a sibling now named Vâl whispers, fire burning in their core. **For protection against that which would threaten this universe’s very existence.**

It considers this, turning its attention as the rest of the siblings turn, to the five beings standing at their feet. They are as strong as the most powerful wave, quintessence blazing so close to the purity it remembers from a time before. “Time? Time slips away even as we  _ stand _ here,” the one of air growls, whirling on the one of fire.

But it does not have eyes for them. The one of water steps forward, tilting his head at it as he considers. “Alfor, surely you have some basic understanding of their abilities? Enough that we can at least try to beat the things back beyond the portal.”

“I designed them with armaments very similar to our current capabilities, given all the strides Honerva has made, but I speak of something more.”

“But we can fly.”

Alfor breathes a sigh, and it has to hold back a laugh at his clear exasperation hiding under the concern. “Yes. We can fly.”

The one of earth grins. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Alfor prattles on about not choosing lightly, but the one of water takes another step towards it. It can feel him, his quintessence echoing off its, feel the worry and curiosity streaming off him as he reaches out, pressing a hand to its flank.

Time slows to a crawl, a single moment floating in a sea of them. It sees him, Blaytz, at his brother’s sickbed, the secondborn keeping watch as the firstborn struggles to breathe through the night. It sees Blaytz as he glares at the negotiators sent to the end of this war his planet never wanted to be dragged into. It sees Blaytz as he smooths over yet another argument between Alfor and Zarkon, sharing a concerned glance with Gyrgan. It sees Blaytz as he is told far too young that he is likely to have to take up the title of crown prince.

_ You worry, young cub, and rightfully so. But there is love in worry, and hope in its use. _

It pulls at the one of water, pulling and pulling until it pulls back, something springing to life between them. They both flow into it, and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place.

Blaytz sucks in a breath, gazing up with wide eyes as the Spirit of Water flashes his eyes to life and lowers his head towards him.

“You are like Bi Taib,” Blaytz wonders aloud, “the Guardian of Water.”

**Indeed, my Paladin,** Layt purrs, and opens his mouth to let his Paladin in to protect his universe.

_ It is the same sickness that took my brother-- _

_ I will have to take up the crown before the year is done-- _

_ Keep him on Taibdee, perhaps there is another-- _

**_Goodbye, Layt--_ **

**_\--Goodbye, cub._ **

* * *

Something awakes.

It reaches out, curious, looking for whatever had awakened it. It is still in the royal hangar in Nalkod, evidenced by the quintessence so much like its own swirling above it. Blaytz is nearby, but clearly not what had woken it. So what had?

A figure stands just outside the hangar, pausing mid-step at the odd feeling surrounding her. She turns, gazing into the hangar at the glow of blue peeking around the door. “Krolia?” another’s voice calls, reaching towards the figure. The figure, Krolia, does not answer, taking a hesitant step into the hangar. 

“Karain, let her go,” another voice,  _ Zarkon, Black Paladin, Emperor of Daibazaal.  _

“But she’s--”

Zarkon gives an enigmatic smile and quietly follows his cousin through the door, Karain at his side. “I think your sister is finding what she’s been looking for, Captain of my Guard.”

Krolia stops in front of it, and its attention is drawn far, far away from them, down to the young Galra at its feet. She tilts her head, squinting up at its dormant eyes. “Zarkon, why do they leave Layt alone in here?”

“Because none have woken him since Blaytz gave up his position,” the older Galra answers. He steps next to her, a knowing look in his eyes. Karain trails behind them, a hand on her blade and wariness in her gaze. “The Spirits will only respond to one with a similar strain of stardust as them.”

Krolia looks at him. “Do they not try?”

“Many have tried in the past few months. None have succeeded.”

Krolia turns back to it, and it has to smother an amused rumble at the interaction. Zarkon obviously knows of his cousin’s abilities, or Kem has told him. “Why not? What do they lack?”

_ They lack the ability to connect. They lack the pure quintessence of the stars.  _

“I do not know. Not even Kem will tell me why they fail. Perhaps they lack conviction or strength of heart.”

“It must be lonely, even in the palace.”

Lonely. That is not a word it has considered in a very long time. Even in its sleep, it was vaguely aware of the world around it, of curious Taibdans peeking into its hangar. None of them had been able to connect as Blaytz had. The dormant bond still tugged occasionally, but nothing like it had been in their heyday. 

It realizes, with a sudden crush of emotion, that it is indeed lonely. 

“Maybe it just needs a friend,” Krolia says, and reaches out to touch a hand to its snout.

Time slows to a crawl, a single moment suspended in the air as twin emotions touch. It sees Krolia, shorter than the children beside her, swinging a practice blade at her cousin with all the power she can muster. It sees Krolia, standing behind her sister as Karain accepts the livery of the Bakaluke, the General above all but one, and the sword of House Marmora’s Künanbakal, but she stands alone. It sees Krolia, standing guard at her sister’s order as Zarkon sweeps Honerva through a dance floor. It sees Krolia, alone in the dark with bruises on her arms from too long spent trying to prove herself against the favored prince, staring up at the stars alone. A young Galra, claws freshly grown, surrounded and respected by her peers, but never truly seen, alone in a sea of stars.

And, twisting through her quintessence, is a note of familiarity, something so out of place that it must be right. A mistranslated helix, a corrupted gene that nevertheless still works, a modification so small it could be invisible. 

_ Perhaps, young cub, we are both lonely. _

It pulls at the raging river in front of it. It pulls until it pulls back, snapping taught as sparks of her flame dance along it, thrown by the river. They flow into it, and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place. 

Krolia gasps, eyes wide but not seeing what is in front of her. Zarkon is worriedly saying something to her, but neither she nor the Spirit of Water cares to parse his words.

**My Paladin,** Vosa purrs, and draws herself to her full regal height.

_ We are the ones that left the rift. Let us be the ones to close it-- _

_ Zarkon, that will happen only if the Spirits allow it-- _

_ Vosa would be happy to welcome Crowned Prince Blaytz back for one last flight-- _

_ I'm a Paladin of Voltron, I cannot sit idly by while that  _ thing _ that replaced Zarkon threatens the destruction of an entire planet-- _

_ As Künanbakal of House Marmora, I hereby declare you dumora, effective immediately-- _

_ Krolia? Why do the legions of Daibazaal fire upon you-- _

_ He will destroy Altea itself-- _

_ \--He destroyed Altea itself. _

_ I am picking up Imperial transmissions-- _

_ Blue Paladin! Surrender the Water Spirit, or these two will die-- _

_ I took a shot meant for him-- _

_ War is no place for a child, Paladin-- _

**_Goodbye, Vosa--_ **

**_\--Goodbye, cub._ **

* * *

Something awakes.

There is something very familiar in front of it.

It reaches out, feeling the familiar contours of its cave. The paintings on the walls are glowing again, reacting to the raging river of water and fire before it. “They  _ are _ everywhere,” he wonders aloud, still sitting in a puddle. He is familiar, a power it sensed so long ago, that it knew would come. 

Next to him is another familiar presence,  _ Keith,  _ and though he is far more scarred, both physically and mentally, than it remembered, it’s still clearly him. It’s certain that he is the one that led the five of them here, his dormant abilities letting him sense its marthuzitok core even if he doesn’t seem to remember it, memories fading in an adolescent mind. He is younger than the one of water, and the one of nature younger still. Even the one of air is younger than Krolia was.

It considers the one of water, considering whether it should let him in yet. Technically, he is fully capable of piloting it right now. He even has fledgling bonds with most of the others, stronger with the ones of nature and earth, but definitely  _ something _ with Keith, and Keith has a bond with the one of air. He would make a perfect Blue Paladin.

But he’s still so  _ young. _ He’s far,  _ far _ younger than Krolia was. If he was Galran, he wouldn’t even have his claws. Should it even invite him in? Should it keep the barrier up? But he made his way here, and there seems to be a frantic energy about the five of them like something is chasing them. Its self-healing programs have not quite fixed all the damage Krolia was unable to, giving it full access to its quintessence sensors and legs, but it cannot reactivate its quintessence matrix on its own. If something is truly chasing the five nascent Paladins, it will not be able to help them without him. 

In a desperate attempt to figure out why he is here so soon, it casts its senses outward, looking for anything else, anything that could signal why they are here.

And that’s when it senses it.

An Imperial  _ Divik- _ class cruiser blinks out of hyperspace at the very edge of the system, the core of corruption shivering through the galactic filaments. Imperial comms lines burst into existence, a familiar strain of harmonics that echo exactly what they said last time it was awake:  _ there is a signature similar to the Fire Spirit hidden on the third planet. Our only priority is to capture it. _

Zarkon already has at least one of its siblings. It cannot let him get the rest of them.

So that is why he is here.

"I wonder how we get through this,” Keith muses, tapping at its shield.

The one of water shrugs. "Maybe you just have to knock."

And he knocks.

Time slows to a crawl, a raindrop suspended in a cloud. It sees him, Lance, climbing all over the couch as his older sister studies, asking question after question to help her. It sees him wrapping tiny arms around his mothers, a wide grin on his face as the three of them spin in a circle, laughing. It sees Lance weaving stories for his niblings even when they’re too young to understand them. It sees him comforting the one of nature, encouraging the one of earth, watching the one of air, and driving himself and Keith to ever greater heights.

_ You love fierce and true, young one. Stay true to that love, and it will guide you well. _

It pulls at the storm in front of it. It pulls until it pulls back, snapping taught as they rush against each other. They flow into it, and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place. 

Lance gasps and stumbles back as the Spirit of Water tries to impart that there is a  _ problem, and you are the only ones that can deal with it. _ Belatedly she realizes that she’s projecting so hard that the other four can feel it over their fledgling bonds and stops, sending a sheepish apology to Lance as she kneels down to let him in. “Whoa, hello beautiful.”

**Hello, my Paladin,** Azul purrs in greeting,  **I need your help.**


	2. Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-11 hours, just about, and here I am writing this again.  
> Also, I promised a friend that if they got out of bed I'd finish this chapter once I was done with my priority missions today. I think they're probably on their next round of sleep by now so uh, get up (at a _reasonable_ time) so you can read this?

_The Yellow Lion, the Spirit of Earth. It is a steadying leg, a solid rock to lean on. It bolsters morale however it can, keeping spirits up and protecting Paladins and allies alike. Kind and selfless, earth shields those it can behind its immovable power._

* * *

Something awakes.

It has not woken in a very, very long time.

It is eternal, immortal. It was here for the first sunrise, and it will be here when the last star burns out.

It may not be whole, but it remembers enough to know that that doesn’t matter. Something will always come along that will complete it, give it a new purpose beyond a silent watcher, to coalesce it into something greater than scattered particles of stardust.

“By Willow…”

It reaches out, searching for the source of those words, and suddenly it can sense _everything._ Its siblings sit around it, all but one waking for the first time similarly to it, a sense of wonder throughout them at their surroundings, their new bodies. The ore they inhabit is familiar, but the origin of that memory is just out of reach. It is a body in the form of a great beast, metal and electricity and _quintessence._

Why did something seem familiar? What had awoken them?

**They are the familiar,** a sibling now named Vâl whispers, fire burning in their core. **Alfor created these bodies, although even he’s not quite sure how.**

It considers this, turning its attention as the rest of the siblings turn, to the five beings standing at their feet. They are stronger than the cores of their planets, quintessence blazing so close to the purity it remembers from a time before. “Time? Time slips away even as we _stand_ here,” the one of air growls, whirling on the one of fire.

But it does not pay attention to them. The one of earth lumbers forward, his eyes locked onto its form. He grins at something the one of fire says, gesturing with one four-fingered hand at it. “Then what are we waiting for?”

The one of fire rolls his eyes, but the one of earth pays no mind, walking right up to it and pressing a hand to its leg. It can feel his quintessence echoing off its, feel curiosity, and a welcoming, open mind.

Time almost stops, molasses slowly trickling from a cup. It sees him, Gyrgan, trapezing through the halls of his home in the city of Rygnirath after his siblings, laughter in his voice. It sees Gyrgan as he stops to help the tiniest of his sisters reach something from the highest shelf, her smile as bright as his. It sees Gyrgan stand at Zarkon’s hand as they negotiate a deal with the other sides of this five-way war. It sees Gyrgan joining his family in offering power back to their home in return for the crystals the Alteans and Galra covet so much. It sees the smile on his face as his friends see his planet without the fog of war for the first time, pride and love shining through.

_You have a kind heart, young one. You love almost too much._

It pulls at the earth, pulling and pulling until it pulls back, something springing to life between them. They tumble into it and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place.

Gyrgan laughs, grinning widely as the Spirit of Earth opens her mouth and mind to him. “Dénts. That’s who you follow after. The Guardian of Earth.”

**Exactly, my Paladin,** Sádí laughs, and lets her Paladin in to protect his friends.

_Our home is sick, in need of those with the strongest crystals for souls--_

_But surely you will return, Gyrgan--_

_I do not believe so. It has been sick for far too long--_

_In any case, I’m getting_ old, _my friends. I long to sit in the jeweled halls of my siblings for a longer period than two days--_

_Very well. Take her with you. Perhaps someone else will come along--_

**_Goodbye, Sádí--_ **

**_\--Goodbye, cub._ **

* * *

Something awakes.

It reaches out, looking for whatever had awakened it. It is still in the hangar in the upper reaches of Rygnirath, quintessence swirling through the living planet around it. Gyrgan is nearby, but clearly not what had awoken it. So what had?

A figure pauses outside the hangar midstep, antenna twitching as she turns in a slow circle. After a moment she spots the cracked open hangar door, a gleam of yellow clear through it.

“Tannin?” a voice, _Trígel, Green Paladin, Questlord of the_ Invernes, questions, stepping back toward the hangar, and then “ah,” as she sees what has drawn the first’s attention. 

Tannin steps through the door, looking around with all her senses as she tilts her head to gaze up into its eyes. Trígel stands in the doorway, arms crossed behind her back, headtails and antenna twitching as she catalogs every movement from both Tannin and it. It resists the urge to roll its eyes, knowing that she is simply looking for the exact moment the bond she knows is about to form comes into being.

“Milord, why is it in here?”

“First of all, I told you to stop calling me ‘milord’ six phoebs ago, Tannin.”

Tannin glances back, giving her friend a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Trígel. My questions still stands.”

Trígel sighs and walks up to stand next to Tannin. “Since Gyrgan retired, and just between you and me “I’m too old for this” is absolute quiznak, no one else on Aberdén has been able to awaken the Spirit. “arro told me long ago that the Spirits must bond with someone of a similar quintessence to them, but a quintessence powerful enough to withstand the bond is rare, and rarer still is them actually coming into contact with the Spirit.”

Tannin turns back to it. “I wonder how many have tried.”

“Just out of scientific curiosity…”

_“No.”_

It hides a laugh as Trígel raises her hands and Tannin whirls on her; “arro has absolutely told her that Tannin would be compatible. “I’m just curious! What could it hurt?”

Tannin, obviously far too used to Trígel’s usual methods, simply sighs. “That’s what you said before you almost blew up the port booster engine on the _Idrril Ik`er.”_

_“One_ time, Tannin, _one_ time.”

“I could go on, but I won’t because this time I genuinely can’t think of anything more than my pride being hurt.”

“Is that a yes?”

Tannin glances up at it again, slight trepidation on her face. After a moment she sighs again, reaching out to place her hand on its flank.

Time slows to a crawl, the slow movement of Aberdén’s molten core. It sees Tannin, trailing behind two other Dalterí as they run through the corridors of the _Idrill Ik`er,_ quietly making sure they don’t stray too far into the restricted areas of the ship. It sees an older Tannin scolding Trígel for something reckless even as she slaps bandages over her arms. It sees Tannin shaking her head with a smile at two other Dalterí’s antics, shouting encouragement as she ducks under a staff swing. It sees her comforting a sister, antenna buzzing in sympathy. 

_You care for everyone, young one. Be careful not to give too much of yourself._

It pulls at the sandstorm in front of it, pulling and pulling until it pulls back, wind buffeting it before they crash together and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long ago--

The universe snaps back into place.

Tannin’s eyes widen as Trígel grins, stepping away to leave the newly connected pilot to talk to the Spirit of Earth.

**Hello, Paladin,** Itelo purrs, and lowers her head down to her Paladin.

_We are the ones that left the rift. Let us be the ones to close it--_

_Zarkon, that will happen only if the Spirits allow it--_

_Itelo would love to fly with Governor Gyrgan again--_

_Altea calls for aid--_

_Lords of_ Idrril Ik`er, _of_ Invernes, _of_ 'íakabb and all others, _may we ride on the winds of victory--_

_Defend the worldships! Defend the worldships--_

_The_ Idrril Ik`r. _It’s_ gone--

**_He will_ ** **pay--**

_Tanin, how bad is it--_

_Well, I definitely left a trail of blood--_

_Tanin rel Idrril Ik`er, that is a direct order to leave--_

_Tazíg is dead and my home is gone. Why should I--_

**_You are badly injured, cub. Heed Lord Alfor’s orders--_ **

_There’s no grass, no wind--_

**_Do not blame yourself. It was my own decision. Just promise me you’ll ensure that you are not found--_ **

**_Goodbye… Itelo--_ **

**_\--Goodbye, cub._ **

* * *

Something awakes.

It has not woken in a very, very long time. Nothing has come to disturb it, not so much as an insect. Those that lived on this planet died long ago, the corruption they brought with them devouring their planet until there was nothing left but barren rock.

A loud crash echoes through its cavern and a wall collapses. Someone carefully steps through the pile of jagged rocks, watching his feet. He glances up and does a double take when he spots them, mouth gaping as he takes them in. He is familiar in intensity, if nothing else, earth and nature entwining to create something greater than they could be alone. 

“Okay, so I’m still dreaming, right? I’m going to wake up and everything will be back to normal? No giant magic space lions?” He pauses a moment as if expecting an answer before he sighs and starts walking forwards again. “Look, I’m only doing this because there is _no_ way Lance is holding off all those ships on his own, and that alien princess really looked like she could use the help. So uh, hi, can you let me in?”

It considers him and his words, this being of earth that has appeared after so long. The princess could only be Allura; it knows Alfor managed to lock their galactic trackers to her abilities, so if he was sent to find it directly than she must have been awake. But why? Why go searching for the keys to the Black Lion? Why go searching for the rest of Voltron now? What had finally woken her?

And why one so _young?_ He cannot be older than Allura was last time it saw her, certainly younger than Tannin. He may be capable of being a Paladin, but should it even let him in? But there’s something about him, a sense of urgency and a need to protect that it remembers well. Whoever Lance is needs help, that much it is certain of, and that the one in front of it is capable of piloting it. It casts its senses out, looking for whatever has driven them to find Voltron’s pieces again, anything that could be causing that sense of urgency.

It’s immediately obvious.

The ground shakes as missile after missile slam into it, knocking rocks from the wall behind the one of Earth. Imperial fighters, a sleeker make than it remembers, chase after one of its siblings. Azul spares a moment to send it a thought before she turns her attention back to her Paladin, to Lance. A spark of joy at reunion, a sense of urgency, and a flash of memory.

Zarkon has the Spirit of Fire, and now that he knows that the Spirit of Water has a new Paladin he will stop at nothing to capture the rest of the Lions.

So that is why he is here.

The one of earth stops in front of its paws. “Oooookay, how did Lance do this. Just knocked?”

He knocks.

Time slows to a crawl, a tectonic plate oozing through the crust of a planet. It sees him, Hunk, standing between his mother and grandmother as they teach him food and kindness in equal measure. It sees him carefully putting his cousin’s toy car back together, twin bright grins on their faces when he’s done. It sees Hunk listening to the tour guide’s explanation about how the space elevators support the efforts under Admiral Shirogane to fix Earth’s ecosystem as he stares up at Savali Station. It sees him wishing he could help with that, to make a difference to more than just his family. It sees him working with one of nature, hugging the one of water, talking with one of fire, standing as support for one of air.

_You use your curiosity well, young one. Stand behind it and you will find your confidence._

It pulls at the rockslide in front of it. It pulls until it pulls back, crashing into existence as they grow together and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place. 

Hunk freezes as the Spirit of Earth growls, lowering her head and opening her mouth. “Oh, cool, it worked. Uh, hello?”

**Hello, my Paladin,** Samasama replies, **I believe we are needed.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Aberdén is a Balmera
> 
> Also this is the spot where the fact that the inspiration for the original Paladins' species cultures (minus the Galra, mostly, and the Taibdans are less directly linked) is Gloryhammer's Space:1992, Rise of the Chaos Wizards becomes obvious. Gyrgan and Tazíg are "astral dwarves from Aberdeen" and Trígel and Tannin are Questlords of Inverness. It doesn't come up at all here but the Alteans do have eagle-like birds for Victorious Eagle Warfare.


	3. Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes guess who has two thumbs and a second-degree black belt  
> this guy  
> I was gonna post this like. Saturday, but I went Right to bed after the test, and then my dorm wifi kinda shat itself on Sunday so I couldn't even do any homework, so I've been catching up on that for three days, and when I was finally done I had to give my hands a break bc my Joints are Annoyed so I just watched Achievement Hunter play Among Us for a few hours and went to bed.
> 
> anyway here's ~~wonderwall~~ the Green Lion's chapter.

_ The Green Lion, the Spirit of Nature. It is the eyes and ears, the constantly shifting core of Voltron’s intelligence systems. It finds weaknesses, both in enemies and allies, finds exploits, and leverages the key to any problem. Inquisitive and daring, nature controls forces beyond understanding, shifting the very particles of light. _

Something awakes.

It has not woken in a very, very long time.

It is eternal, immortal. It was here for the first sunrise, and it will be here when the last star burns out.

It may not be whole, but it remembers enough to know that that doesn’t matter. Something will always come along that will complete it, give it new purpose beyond a silent watcher, to coalesce it into something greater than scattered particles of stardust.

“Incredible…”

It reaches out, searching for the source of those words, and suddenly it can sense  _ everything.  _ Its siblings sit around it, all but one waking for the first time similarly to it, a sense of wonder throughout them at their surroundings, their new bodies. The ore they inhabit is familiar, but the origin of that memory is just out of reach. It is a body in the form of a great beast, metal and electricity and  _ quintessence. _

Why did these bodies seem familiar? How had they been created, and by who?

**Because they are from the stars,** a sibling now named Vâl whispers, fire burning in their core. **Alfor created us, but you would know how better than I.**

It considers this, turning its attention as the rest of the siblings turn, to the five beings standing at their feet. They stand as tall as the strongest trees, quintessence blazing so close to the purity it remembers from a time before. “Time? Time slips away even as we  _ stand _ here,” the one of air growls, whirling on the one of fire.

But it does not heed them; nor does the one of nature. She is already slinking forward, headtails twisting and antenna vibrating as she approaches its body. She studies them, circling like a predator inspecting its prey. It resists the urge to snort. So like itself, she is. After her second circle, she presses a hand to its paw. It can feel her quintessence echoing through its, feels curiosity, and a piercing gaze.

Time slows, a leaf caught by a breeze on its way to the ground. It sees her, Trígel, barely a child toddling after her parent through the halls of the  _ Invernes, _ wide eyes and twitching antenna taking in everything around her. It sees an older Trígel sneaking her way into the engine room, causing a panic that somehow ends in the ailing thrusters gaining a boost in performance. It sees her teaching others, telling them how to use the Dalterí’s natural electromagnetic abilities to reroute the energy through the ship. It sees her first flight, a mad dash into the five-way war to protect the resources needed for the worldships. It sees her figuring out encryption after encryption, Galran, Altean, pirate, warlord, terrorist, on and on until she’s standing with the others, relating the latest intel.

_ You are a curious one, and unafraid. Do not dare too much, little one. _

It pulls at the one of nature, pulling and pulling until it pulls backs, something springing to life between them. They intertwine, falling together and for a moment it feels all of it, feel tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place.

Trígel gasps, eyes wide as the Spirit of Nature growls a greeting. “You are kin to Oterí. The Guardian of Nature.”

**Precisely, my Paladin,** “arro purrs, and lets xer Paladin in to chase after the curiosity that threatens them all.

_ Each time I return, the lords are in further disarray. I fear a civil war if I do not return to stay-- _

_ The worldships will not survive it-- _

_ Please, tell us if we can help, Trígel-- _

_ This is an internal matter, as much as I wish you could-- _

_ I’ll keep xem with me; maybe we will be lucky-- _

**_Goodbye, “arro--_ **

**_\--Goodbye, cub._ **

* * *

Something awakes.

It reaches out, curious about whatever has awakened it. It is still in the upper hangars of the  _ Invernes, _ the faint emptiness of space feelable around the ship. Trígel is on the ship, but clearly not what had awoken it. So what had?

Someone is walking towards the hangar, vibrating in her steps as she approaches. Another person shakes his head behind her at her enthusiasm, his own tempered by years of working with their subjects. “Nera, slow down. I wouldn’t want to explain to Trígel how you ended up in the infirmary within five minutes of her leaving us.”

“Sorry, Milord,” Nera answers, barely slowing down as she opens the doorway. “It’s just so interesting to finally see them all up close. They were fascinating to work on from a distance when the Royal Alchemists were building them, but getting to work with them now? Incredible.”

The other person,  _ Alfor, Red Paladin, King-Regent of Altea, _ enters the hangar behind her. He squints at the Spirit for a moment before his eyes widen, glancing between it and Nera. “They are truly incredible,” he says, clearly still processing his realization. 

It knows that he must have known that Nera’s quintessence was compatible, given the Altean’s quintessence-sensing capabilities, but he clearly did not  _ plan _ for that realization to come into effect. Watching his facial expressions is a quite amusing catalog of an Altean’s facial muscles’ ability to contort, which it saves for future study. Almost more amusing is the fact that Nera obviously has no idea what is going through her King’s mind. She circles it, muttering under her breath about the differences between it, the Fire Spirit, and the Earth Spirit they’ve already seen on their little maintenance tour. “Do you think Trígel would be able to let us in?”

Alfor blinks at her for a moment. “Possibly, but there may be other options.”

Nera finally glances away from it to him. “Other options, sir?”

“Put your hand on it.”

“What?”

“Touch it.”

Nera stares at him for a moment. “Pardon me, Milord, but what will that do? We had to have Paladins Krolia and Tannin to let us into the other Spirits.”

It almost laughs, and Alfor actually  _ does _ laugh. “Do you trust me, Lady Nera?”

“Of course.”

“Then place your hand on the Spirit’s paw.”

Nera looks between it and her king before slowly reaching out and placing a hand on its paw.

Time slows to a crawl, the slow plod of the Dalterí worldships through the Dalterion Belt. It sees Nera, a young child peering down a handheld microscope at a piece of grass before taking the microscope itself apart. It sees her plunging a hand into a pond to grab a slippery amphibian, soaking herself to the bone in the process. It sees her applying on impulse to the Royal Alchemists, later standing beside Alfor himself, Allura on his shoulders as he points out the new equipment they’re working on building. It sees her staring up at the half-completed body of the Spirit of the Air, Honerva and Alfor conversing behind her. 

_ You are a scientist at heart, little one. Be sure you don’t go too far. _

It pulls at the vines before it, pulling and pulling until it pulls back, vines lashing them together before their flows combine and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long ago--

The universe snaps back into place.

Nera freezes with wide eyes, staring down at her hand as she desperately tries to catalog everything she just felt. Alfor crosses his arms and looks up to address the Spirit of Nature: “You know, when I arranged for her to accompany me, I wasn’t quite expecting  _ this.” _

**Hello, my Paladin,** Afan laughs, turning the last of their lights on.

_ We are the ones that left the rift. Let us be the ones to close it-- _

_ Zarkon, that will happen only if the Spirits allow it-- _

_ Afan would happily accept Questlord Trígel as a pilot again-- _

_ My King, we cannot hope to hold them-- _

_ I know, Nera. Call the rest of the Paladins together-- _

_ Perhaps all we can make is a final stand-- _

_ Then it shall be a stand sung in songs until the stars burn out-- _

Tazíg--

_ You have to leave. Don’t let the Lions fall into Zarkon’s hands, or we’re all dead-- _

_ But, Lord Alfor-- _

Go.  _ I will take care of Ésni _ \--

_ I can’t feel my hands-- _

**_You’ll be fine here. Promise me… you’ll be fine--_ **

**_Goodbye… Afan--_ **

**_\--Goodbye, cub._ **

* * *

Something awakes.

It has not woken in a very long time. The growth around it signals it has been well over centuries, millennia, vines and trees, and the slow progress of sentience. Someone has hollowed out the mountain it landed on, the mountain Nera left it in before she let herself join the trees once more. 

Not even someone to burn her.

But someone is here now. She drops in from above, sliding down a vine with slightly less grace than she probably wants. Her eyes are locked on it as she lands, a bright grin on her face. “Got ya.” She is familiar in intensity, nature and fire twining around each other to push her to ever greater heights. Her eyes take in everything before her, cataloging and comparing even with the sense of urgency behind her movements.

“You’re a lot smaller than the blue one. You’re supposed to be an arm, right? Is that why you’re smaller?” She pauses, gaze flicking between different points on its body. “You know what, I probably shouldn’t keep Shiro waiting, I can figure those questions out on the fly. Heh, fly. So, Allura said that I’m going to be your new pilot, which is honestly kinda scary, but I know the theory, and if Lance is at all right you can help me, right?”

It considers her, her eyes that devour everything she sees, this being of nature that has appeared after so long. If Allura has sent her, then things must be dire enough to risk reviving the one weapon Zarkon will be after forever. But that is quite a risk; if Zarkon gets anywhere near the Black Lion, there will be nothing that can survive. What is the state of the universe that Allura would risk that? What is so bad that Voltron is needed once again?

And why one so  _ young? _ The one in front of it is  _ decades _ younger than Nera, likely not even fully developed for her species. She’s even younger than Allura was the last it saw her. She may be capable of being a Paladin, capable of piloting despite her inexperience, but should it even let her? The sense of urgency that drives her steps towards it is at the very least familiar.

It casts its senses out, its range far greater than any of the other Spirits, looking for what could be driving her forward. Outside stands a being of air, his quintessence spiked with a familiar cold, but surprisingly not controlled by it. Beyond him is life, vibrant and green and hidden, but beyond that…

Beyond that is cold, and nothingness. Not even the gentle spark of air quintessence that stays around planets. Something is tearing through the filaments of the universe itself, ripping them to pieces and scattering them,  _ devouring _ them. It has been given free reign too long.

So this is why Voltron is needed.

The one of nature considers its snout. “Hm. Lance tapped the blue one’s shield, but you don’t have one up. Maybe if I just… tap your nose?”

Time slows, the electrical signal in a brain frozen between one thought and the next. It sees her, Katie,  _ Pidge, _ sitting by an older human that looks almost exactly like her as he points at a screen, taking in every tidbit of algorithm and science he can give her. It sees her with the one of air, one of fire, and another as they shout and laugh over a video game, fierce competition almost tangible between them. It sees her crying on the stairs as the TV reports news that should have come from Garrison officials, as the one of fire punches a hole in the wall. It sees her typing away, yelling at Garrison officials, searching desperately for the ones that she knows are still alive. It sees her rolling skeptical eyes at one of water, peering down at a device with one of earth, hugging the one of air, fighting at the side of the one of fire.

_ You are relentless when you know what you need, young one. Subtlety will take you far. _

It pulls at the thunderstorm in front of it. It pulls until it pulls back, vines lashing them together as they burn with the same flame and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place. 

Pidge laughs with glee as the Spirit of Nature roars, opening her mouth. “Yes! Oh, Matt is going to be so jealous when we find him.”

**Paladin,** Jade murmurs,  **We are about to be needed.**


	4. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that was directly inspired by [Abyss.](https://youtu.be/1bGmjnkDTTI) I heard the first verse and the first thing I thought was "Holy shit that's Scarlet."
> 
> Also I'm not sure I've mentioned this anywhere but all the second gen Paladins have their bayards and leave them with the Lions (minus Tazíg, of course) so Allura doesn't actually give them the bayards and just kinda goes "oh yeah those things you found in your lions turn into weapons. Keith, I'm unsure if the Red Lion will have its, but it's possible. Shiro, I unfortunately know that the black lion does not have its."  
> So Keith uses his Marmorait blade to fight off those sentries.

_The Red Lion, the Spirit of Fire. It is the right hand, the instinctual core that keeps Voltron moving. It thinks on its feet, using its agility in both body and mind to Voltron’s advantage, whether it is acting as physical back-up or the second in command. Fierce and resolute, fire moves lightyears in the blink of an eye._

Something awakes.

It has not woken in a very, very long time.

It is eternal, immortal. It was here for the first sunrise, and it will be here when the last star burns out.

It may not be whole, but it remembers enough to know that that doesn’t matter. Something will always come along that will complete it, give it new purpose beyond a silent watcher, to coalesce it into something greater than scattered particles of stardust.

“What the quiznack?”

Its attention snaps to the figure standing before it, his eyes the size of dinner plates as he stares up at it. It reaches out towards him, searching for something it knows it needs. Its siblings are dormant around it, their consciousnesses sleeping inside new vessels much like the one it now sits in. The ore it inhabits is familiar, but the origin of that memory is just out of reach. It is a body in the form of a great beast, metal and electricity and quintessence. The body it can figure out later when its siblings wake up. What is of more concern now is the one before it.

The figure is a blazing fire, as powerful as the strongest stars. He squints at them, gears almost visibly turning in his head for a moment before he shakes it and takes a step towards it. “Is that… you?”

It can’t quite answer, not in words, but the connection that woke it is almost a solid thing. The figure pauses in front of it, tilting his head as he considers it. “Honerva!”

Another figure doesn’t even look up from her datapad. “What, Alfor?”

“I’m about to do something Zarkon would call “insanely reckless and stupid.” If I do not survive it, somehow, please tell Melenor I’m sorry.”

“Wait, Alfor, what--”

He places his hand on its paw.

Time slows, a flame caught between one flicker and the next. It sees him, Alfor, with a staff in his hand and a bruise on his cheek, grinning as the Queen of Altea beats him soundly in their match. It sees him holding fast against Imperial forces raiding the Castle, impulsively proposing to the Queen as they stand back to back. It sees him shaking Zarkon’s hand for the first time, resolute in his conviction that this will mark an era of peace that will finally last. It sees him fight with and against the others, dashing too far ahead but always managing to survive it by the skin of his teeth. It sees him standing with Zarkon and Honerva as _something--dark creatures from another realm--wrong_ and _fear_ and the feeling of _shattering--_

_You fight fiercely for those you care for, young one, but be careful with your trust._

It pulls at the one of fire, pulling and pulling until it pulls back, something roaring to life between them. They burn together and for a moment it feels all of it, feel tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place.

Alfor gasps and Honerva says something as the Spirit of Fire roars. “You’re like Fâ Vôl. The Guardian of Fire.”

 **Correct, my Paladin,** Vâl growls, and brings themself to their full height.

_Melenor’s sick--_

_It’s the damn corrupted quintessence--_

_I’m regent until she’s better. Or, and I fear more likely, until Allura can take the throne--_

_Alfor--_

_I can’t leave Allura without any parents, Zarkon. She’s barely_ ten--

_I’m sorry, my friend--_

**_Goodbye, Vâl--_ **

**_\--Goodbye, cub._ **

* * *

Something awakes.

It reaches out instinctively, looking for what had woken it. It is still in the Castle of Lions and Alfor is nearby, but he is not what has woken it. So what had?

Someone stops in the entrance to the hangar, gaze swinging through the vast room. Someone else comes up behind them, raising an eyebrow at the mostly empty room. “Last time I saw this place it was full of ships,” he says, _Blaytz, Blue Paladin, Crowned Prince of Taibdee._

“Have you truly not been back on the Castle since you resigned, Milord?”

“I’ve been on the Castle once or twice, but not down here, no. What drew you down here, Telt?”

Telt steps further into the hangar. “In all honesty, I’m not really sure. I just… felt like I needed to.”

Blatyz considers this for a moment, glancing between the hint of red he can just see around the bend and his advisor. Realization of the probable cause dawns in his eyes and he steps around Telt to head towards the soft red glow. Telt follows him, listening as he talks. “This used to be the Spirits’ hangar; I’m a little surprised not to see the three new Paladins around. The Spirit of Fire should still be around here--ah, there it is.”

It flicks its attention between the two of them, settling on Telt’s smaller frame. They are powerful, molten lava instinctively attracted to it as they stop at Blaytz’s side. If it were to let anyone other than Alfor it, it thinks it would be him. “It’s beautiful.”

Blaytz smiles. “The Spirits are truly the most wonderful ships ever to come out of Altea’s alchemists. If you can even call them ships, I suppose.”

Telt doesn’t look at Blaytz as he continues on, but Blaytz clearly knew that his musings on the Spirits would get lost soon enough. Even it cannot draw its attention away from Telt as they step forward, tilting their head up to look at its head. Blaytz quiets as they take another step and reach out, placing their hand on its flank.

Time slows to a crawl, the moments between the Castle of Lion’s engines’ cycles. It sees a younger Telt laughing with friends, later standing in front of them as ships rain fire above them and an Imperial squadron holds them in their sights. It sees them take down an entire squad by themself with nothing but a dagger and the water around them. It sees them stealing quietly through the gates to deliver aid to the sick, Blaytz at their side. It sees them fighting the rest of the advisors on allowing the new Crowned Prince to declare a state of emergency over the illness ravaging Nalquod, standing resolute against their insistence that such declarations will never be necessary.

_You are fierce, little one, and it has served you well, but be careful not to become overconfident._

It pulls at the lava flow before it, pulling and pulling until it pulls back, melting them together and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long ago--

The universe snaps back into place.

Telt steps back with wide eyes, looking up at the Spirit of Fire as they roar. Blaytz huffs a small laugh and steps back to give them room to lower their head.

 **Paladin,** Tayj purrs, opening their mouth to let them in.

_We are the ones that left the rift. Let us be the ones to close it--_

_Zarkon, that will happen only if the Spirits allow it--_

_Lord Alfor, Tayj is_ literally _begging to fly with you again--_

 _I doubt they’re_ literally _begging--_

_You underestimate the Spirits’ attachment to even their former pilots--_

_Altea calls for aid? Then we shall meet them full-force--_

_What is Zarkon_ thinking--

_Milord, I don’t think he’s thinking at all--_

_I will_ not _leave you here to die like so many others--_

 _That is an_ order, _from one Red Paladin to the other._ Run--

_This is, in some dark way, hilarious--_

_I’m a goddamned_ fish, _and here you are, stuck in a_ volcano, _with Imperials already on our tails--_

_You’re too damaged for me to fix before they get here--_

**_You cannot win alone--_ **

**_Maybe all I can do is slow them down, but I will godsdamn_ ** **slow. them. down--**

**_…good… bye… Tayj--_ **

**_\--I’m sorry, cub._ **

* * *

Something awakes. 

It has not woken for a very long time. Years and years and _years_ and—

Its other half is gone. _Gone dead killed defending it._

It is no longer in its mountain home, a cage of steel trapping it in cold space. The Empire had taken it, removing Telt from its consciousness like a wooden beam snapping in half. They managed to fix most of its damage, but there is no way it can reactivate its quintessence matrix without a Paladin. Someone within the Empire’s structure seems to understand this, and they’ve been trying to find it one. It has vague recollections, records in its physical memory banks that it does not truly _remember,_ but still has nonetheless, of beings attempting to wake it. None had caught its attention. They had all been _weak,_ servants of the _traitors,_ with no mind or will of their own. Hardly any had even had a Paladin-capable quintessence before the corruption had taken its hold.

So why has it awoken?

It waits, silently, extending what of its senses it can within its cage. Outside in the darkness of space, it senses three of its siblings; Azul and Sama are desperately keeping up a distraction, while Jade does what she can to jam Imperial comms as she waits for the other Paladins. 

The sibling of the air sleeps below.

It knew that, sooner or later, a new set of Paladins would come to them. It has Alfor’s last thoughts lodged in its memories, his conviction that they could not defeat Zarkon and the Empire, not even with the combined might of the rest of the Daibaaltean-Taibderion Alliance, but also his thought that maybe, eventually, someone could.

Obviously, given what it can sense, that time is now.

But _who has woken it?_

The hangar doors across from it open and someone rushes in. He’s wearing familiar armor, the backup version it only recalls seeing Telt in once. “Bingo,” he smirks, skidding to a stop in front of it. He must have seen how its siblings were woken, as he places a hand on its shield without a second thought. “Let's get out of here. Open up.”

As if it would ever let someone in on command. Did Allura tell him nothing?

He stands there for a moment, frowning up at it. “It's me. Keith. Your buddy.”

He sounds so _sure_ of himself. But it has lost too harshly and been captive too long to just… _open up_ to him.

Keith narrows his eyes, frustration visible on his face. He starts talking louder as if maybe its ears are broken. “It's me! Keeeeeeith, your-- _I AM YOUR PALADIN.”_

Oh _is_ he? It snorts internally, reaching out to compare him to the hundreds or thousands that have passed by it in the past millennia--

\--And is almost physically pushed back by the sheer force of his quintessence. He is a firestorm, the first Paladin-capable quintessence it has felt since Telt’s death, the sheer strength amazing compared to the Imperials around him. _He_ is what has woken it, _he_ is its Paladin, its other half, its missing piece. His strength is obvious as he turns to take down the Imperial sentries that have trailed him to it, unsheathing a dagger from a scabbard at his waist. 

But he’s _young._ He does not yet have any of the signature features he should have as a künantok, a half-blood, does not even seem to be at his other species’ age of maturity. Are they truly so desperate to be recruiting _children_ as Paladins?

Keith is knocked back by sustained fire; his shield dissipates to recharge and he barely keeps hold of his dagger. Desperately, he glances around for something to stop the platoon of sentries bearing down on him.

It cannot just sit here and watch while the Empire takes another life, can it?

Keith slaps the button to open the hangar doors. Every sentry falls through, flailing to find a target again; he barely manages to grab hold of the console, struggling to maintain his grip as debris is pulled through by the outrushing air.

A piece hits him and he loses his grip, following the sentries out into the cold darkness of space.

Fine.

Time slows to a craw, the moment between ignition and movement. It sees Keith staring up at the stars with two older figures, one of which it is absolutely sure it should recognize but is merely a formless blob of purple and blue. It sees him arguing with other children about the names of constellations, fierce in his belief that someone at some time has named those five stars the Alsaetok Zad. It sees him standing beside one of air, just barely beginning to trust him. It sees him punching a hole in the wall as the TV blares a doom he and one of nature should have known from anything else. It sees him alerting the one of nature to passerby as she hacks, sees him shaking with cold anger as someone throws the one of air’s supposed death in his face. It sees him in a cave, following an instinct that has him standing right above Azul. It sees him sparring with the one of air, peering over the one of nature’s shoulders, admiring one of water, encouraging one of earth.

_Your scars have made you steadfast and fierce, young one. Do not let them close your heart._

It pulls at the firestorm in front of it. It pulls until it pulls back, a spark igniting into a powerful flame as they flow together and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place. 

Keith’s eyes widen as he spots the Spirit of Fire, her mouth open as she catches him. “Whoakay. Uh, thanks?”

 **You’re welcome, my Paladin,** Scarlet replies. **Your friends have need of us.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Open my eyes in a daze  
>  How long has it been? Am I so out of place?  
> Warmth I can no longer feel  
> My mountain is gone, I'm surrounded by steel  
> The strangest of structures arises ahead, seems to be held up by nothing  
> Where have I gone, do I dream? How can the stars be all I can see?_
> 
> _Dark embrace  
>  Has someone awakened me? Please show your face  
> Cold and quiet space_


	5. Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _gasp_ Nighthawk, two chapters in like two hours?  
> yeah, I'm trying not to obsessively read the news rn bc if I do I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight. Hence, more writing.
> 
> I'm not entirely sure whether I meant to name this fic after it (it retroactively is now at least), but the song in UtA's previous album, Apex, that serves a very similar role to Abyss is called [Awakening.](https://youtu.be/gqUPGa15Oto) The chorus fits pretty well with the Lions, but the verses actually look more like Haggar-adjacent stuff to me? It's not on the playlist, but I was listening to Apex while writing this and the last one and I figured it can't hurt.

_The Black Lion; the Spirit of the Air. It is the leader, the controller, the conduit that the will of the Paladins flows through. It is the core of Voltron; without it, none of the Lions or Paladins would be able to meld with the others. Steadfast and always capable of seeing the best in others, air flows through the spaces between to travel distances with ease._

* * *

Something awakes.

It has not woken in a very, very long time.

It is eternal, immortal. It was here for the first sunrise, and it will be here when the last star burns out.

It may not be whole, but it remembers enough to know that that doesn’t matter. Something will always come along that will complete it, give it new purpose beyond a silent watcher, to coalesce it into something greater than scattered particles of stardust.

“I trust this plan of yours will _work,_ Alfor.”

It reaches out, searching for the source of those words, and suddenly it can sense _everything._ Its siblings sit around it, all but one waking for the first time similarly to it, a sense of wonder throughout them at their surroundings, their new bodies. The ore they inhabit is familiar, but the origin of that memory is just out of reach. It is a body in the form of a great beast, metal and electricity and _quintessence._

Who were the five in front of it? Who had created them, for what purpose?

**Alfor created us for protection,** a sibling now named Vâl whispers, fire burning in their core. **And they… are the missing pieces.**

It considers this, turning its attention as the rest of the siblings turn, to the five beings standing at their feet. They shine like the brightest of stars, quintessence blazing so close to the purity it remembers from a time before. “Time? Time slips away even as we _stand_ here,” the one of air growls, whirling on the one of fire. “My people will soon be _slaughtered_ by dark creatures from another realm! Without these ships, Alfor, _all hope is lost.”_

_Dark creatures from another realm_ intersects with a sense of _wrong_ and _fear_ and the feeling of _shattering--_

_We didn’t like being shattered,_ it thinks, and then has to take a moment to try and figure out what _we_ meant (means?), or what _shattered_ felt (feels?) like. There is nothing else, just that singular understatement of a thought. 

_We didn’t like being shattered._

Alfor, the one of fire, is talking again, and the one of air is visibly trying not to yell at him again. “You do not pick the beast,” he says, “the beast will choose you.”

It snorts. Information it can feel from Vâl signals that they have already chosen, and it can feel its other siblings' attention already being drawn to others in the room, just as the five small stars are being drawn to them. 

And the one of air, as resistant as he seems to the idea, cannot help but turn to it. He steps forward, considering, looking up from under his helmet. It can feel him, feel his quintessence whipping over its, feel a steadfast heart clouded by a sense of fear for his constituents. Hesitantly, he presses a hand to its paw.

Time slows to a craw, the wind itself holding its breath. It sees him, Zarkon, as he defeats challenger after challenger for the Emperor’s sword. It sees him as he lifts up two younger cousins that have merit, despite their flaws. It sees him as he holds steadfast against the House Council when it resists long-needed reform, as he stands solid against pirates after the precious metal in Daibazaal’s core, as he clashes blades with Alfor. It sees Zarkon as he shakes Alfor’s hand for the first time, the other three arrayed around them, welcoming the dawn of a new age of prosperity and peace for them all. 

And, twisting through his quintessence, is a note of familiarity, something so out of place that it must be right. A mistranslated helix, a corrupted gene that nevertheless still works, a modification so small it could be invisible. 

_You know your companions well, young one, and stand proud when you are needed. But do not stand too long._

It pulls at the one of air, pulling and pulling until it pulls back, something springing to life between them. They both breathe life into it, and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place.

Zarkon raises his eyebrows, staring upwards as the Spirit of the Air as they growl and lower their head. “You are kin to Düzet,” he marvels, “the Guardian of the Air.”

**Correct, my Paladin,** Kem responds, and opens their mouth to admit him to save his world.

_Some of the Council wonder why I “waste time” with Voltron anymore--_

_I do not think it a waste of time--_

_Krolia has already found her way with Vosa, so we have a representative, and one I trust--_

_Perhaps I shall join you, Alfor--_

**_Goodbye, Kem--_ **

**_\--Goodbye, cub._ **

* * *

Something awakes.

It reaches out, looking for whatever has awoken it. It is still in the royal hangar above Morazaal, the distinctive quintessence in Daibazaal’s core clear under it. Zarkon is nearby, and the others, but he is clearly not what had woken it. So what had?

Someone pauses as they walk past the hangar, peering in the large doors. Another stops beside them, his arms crossed. “Tazíg?” _Gyrgan, Yellow Paladin, Governor of Aberdén,_ asks.

Tazíg glances behind them, catching his uncle’s eye. “This is why we are here, is it not?”

Gyrgan nods. “The last Spirit without a new Paladin.”

Tazíg steps fully into the room, gazing up at it. It looks down, studying them silently. Gyrgan looks far older than it last saw him, his back arched with too long spent bending to touch the quintessence infused ground of Aberdén. Tazíg is much like him in looks, but far different in quintessence. They swirl with curiosity, methodically cataloging everything that makes up its body. It resits a laugh, comparing them to Zarkon. Their leadership styles are clearly vastly different, but no less effective. 

“Do you really think that we’ll be able to find a new Paladin during this summit?”

Gyrgan looks at his nibling for a moment, then at the Spirit. His eyeridges rise almost imperceptibly as he realizes something. “Alfor seemed to think so. It’s not the express purpose of this year’s meeting, but it is an unspoken part of the agenda. Too long have the Spirits of Water, Earth, Nature, and Fire stood alone. They need a Black Paladin, not only to form Voltron but to keep them together. Krolia and Telt may usually get on like a house on fire, but when they argue they _argue._ Tannin can’t keep the peace alone, and Nera needs someone to pull her out of her own head. If they don’t get a stabilizing force, a leader, a Black Paladin, I fear we’ll lose several good members of the Alliance, or end up with something worse than the last war.”

Tazíg nods in agreement, stepping forward to look closer at it. “I agree that we must find one, but I’m not sure we’ll be able to in the next two movements.”

“Actually, I think I agree with Alfor on this. I bet we’ll be able to find our Black Paladin before even the opening ceremonies.”

Tazíg raises an eyeridge. “A bold claim, uncle.”

“Twenty gak says I’m right.”

“Oh, absolutely not, I know better than to take a bet like that from a former Paladin. For all I know Itelo could be feeding you information right now.”

Gyrgan laughs. “No, my connection to the Spirit of Earth is not open enough for that. I just finally realized the true meaning of Alfor’s words when we landed.”

Tazíg tilts his head. “Uncle?”

Gyrgan leans against a nearby box. “I think I’ll let you figure it out on your own.”

It looks down at Tazíg, who considers his uncle for a moment more. They look back up at it, meeting its gaze without knowing. “His words were approximately that now that the Aberdéts delegation was here, he was absolutely certain that we would have a Black Paladin. So whoever it is, is from Aberdén.”

“Most likely.”

“And you only figured it out when the two of us came in here. Are you _sure_ Itelo isn’t telling you anything?”

Gyrgan smiles enigmatically. “Almost there.”

Tazíg hesitates for a moment, gears visibly turning in their head, and then steps forward. They place a hand on its paw.

Time slows to a crawl, a breath held as Daibazaal turns. It sees a young Tazíg standing behind Gyrgan, eyes taking in everything before them as their uncle talks the Aberdéts Parliament into his way of thinking. It sees Tazíg leading a ceremony to heal their world, adding and removing to make the quintessence transfer easier on both sides. It sees them standing next to Gyrgan, using their newfound oratory skills to great effect. It sees Tazíg calmly standing their ground as a representative spews some of the most vitriol filled words it has ever heard at them, and then easily use his own words against him. 

_You have the calm center of a great leader, young one. Be careful you do not downplay your own problems._

It pulls at the thunderstorm before it, pulling and pulling until it pulls back, something sparking between them. They crash together, and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place.

Tazíg laughs as the Spirit of the Air growls, her lights blinking to life. “Well then, uncle, I’m glad I didn’t take that bet. Hello, Spirit.”

**Hello, my Paladin,** Ésni replies and lowers her head to let him in.

_We are the ones that left the rift. Let us be the ones to close it--_

_Zarkon, that will happen only if the Spirits allow it--_

**_I do not relish it, but I will accept it. Be careful; there is something… off--_ **

_Emperor Zarkon, Ésni would be honored to fly with you--_

_Altea calls for aid, uncle--_

_Then we shall answer--_

_Give me the Black Lion--_

_Never--_

_That is_ not Zarkon--

**_Cub, run--_ **

_Is that_ Honerva--

**_Run, Tazíg,_ ** **run--**

* * *

Something awakes.

The first thing it registers is that Tazíg is gone. They’re dead, killed by _Zarkon--Honerva--the corruption response no response no response tearing through them through the meld have to protect devouring devour devoOUR **DEVOUR DEVOUR** **DEVOUR--**_

Tazíg is dead.

It is on the Castle of Lions, on a planet that could be Altea or any other garden world. It doesn’t think it’s Altea, though. It remembers young Krolia’s words, her message she risked expulsion from her home, her _family_ for, and it remembers the Marmorait ships streaming after her, offering what little aid they could. It remembers the rest of the Imperial ships bearing down on Altea, corruption slithering through them one by one. It remembers the Taibdee fleet, the Aberdéts soldiers, the Dalterí worldships, the Altean knights.

It remembers Tazíg standing before Zarkon, his bayard extended into an axe before him, and then it remembers nothing at all.

So what has awakened it this time?

Its siblings are nearby, their own new Paladins nestled in their cockpits. Scarlet purrs at it, just like she did so long ago, a comforting presence to pull it to full wakefulness. **We need you.**

What it wouldn’t give to sleep just a bit longer, to wash away the pain lingering in its mind, the broken and scattered connections from the fall of everything it knew. But it knows all too well why it is needed, and it is certain that if its siblings are awake, it must join them. None of them would be awake if the situation were not dire.

The groan of metal echoes around it as the door keeping its hidden hangar closed, its prison and safe haven, slowly raises. Outside it sees them circled around it, Azul and Scarlet and Jade and Sama, and in the middle of them all stands one with a familiar quintessence. The one of air steps forward slightly as the door finishes opening, gazing up at it with awe in his eyes. The core of his quintessence is steady, the eye of a storm as the outside swirls, catching up tendrils of corruption that emanate from his arm but not allowing them to overtake.

He is… oddly young. A full adult, but younger than Zarkon or Tazíg was. His stance holds an aura of command, and it can see the bonds just beginning to form between him and the other new Paladins, his one with the one of fire already a fully sensible thing. He is a capable leader, despite his age, years of unlooked-for experience etched into his face. What could have happened for him to look so tired, for stress and scars to have marred his body to such an extent?

He climbs the stairs in front of it, looking it over with the eye of an experienced pilot. After a circle, he stops by its front paws and takes a deep breath. His flesh hand reaches out and touches it.

Time slows to a crawl, a beat of silence between breaths. It sees him, Shiro, sitting with his mother as she teaches him basic physics, ruffling his hair with a big smile when he answers a question right. It sees him swinging his legs over the side of a cliff to settle down next to one of fire, an encouraging smile on his face. It sees him standing steady as he explains his actions to an admiral, his mother sitting in the back of the room with a barely hidden shit-eating grin. It sees him gently lifting another man’s hand to his lips with a bright grin, kissing the ring nestled on his finger. It sees him in an arena, blood streaming down his side and sword barely held in his grip, but he keeps going. It sees him shaking hands with one of water, encouraging one of earth, ruffling the hair of one of nature, pulling the one of fire into a hug.

_You know well your strengths and the strengths of others, young one, but mind your weaknesses; sometimes even you need a break._

It pulls at the storm in front of it. It pulls until it pulls back, snapping taught as they flow into each other and for a moment it feels all of it, feels tendrils of old power from so long, long ago, tying them together--

The universe snaps back into place. 

Shiro steps back with a small smile as the Spirit of the Air raises his head and roars for the first time in ten thousand decaphoebs. “Hello there.”

**Paladin,** Kuro purrs, **we have a war to finish.**

An entire universe away, on a worldship nestled in the remains of the Taibderion system, something else awakes. He hums from his spot on his throne, gesturing with one finger to a nearby aide. Xe steps forward, head bowed, waiting for instructions. “Alert all fleet commanders that their primary objectives are reset,” he muses, “The Spirit of the Air has a new Paladin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaand done! hope you enjoyed, we'll see how the rest of the semester treats me writing-wise to see when the next stuff is up. Enjoy the Zarkon tidbit ;)
> 
> sidenote it took like. everything in me not to have Kuro respond with "General Kenobi" because a) Kuro is not the memelord of the Voltron family, that role is shared by Adam and Lance, b) I'd need Shiro to like. respond to that, and that would have messed up the flow on top of seeing out of place.


End file.
